


Sanguine

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Biting, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season 8, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timestamp for 8x05: Blood Brother. The truck -- and all of Benny's blood -- is missing when Dean gets to the harbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sanguine

**Author's Note:**

> Smut for the fun of it. :D. Enjoy!

The truck is gone.

“Shit!” Dean strikes at the ground with the heel of his boot, watches the dust cloud rise and disperse without bothering to take his frustration along with it. Benny gave him clear directions, told him exactly where the truck was. He checks the area just to be sure, walks out further than he needs to because he _knows_ Benny didn't park that far away. He bites the inside of his lip, pain sparking across the anxiety churning in his gut and holding it far enough at bay for him to focus. He stands where the truck should be and seethes. Someone stole it, stole an old pile of junk and blood and _shit,_ the nearest hospital is a good few hours away and Benny doesn't have that long.

Dean finds him below deck. Benny's propped up against the wall, surrounded by the sloppy mess of his own blood. It twists something deep inside Dean, the part of him that screams in agony whenever someone he cares about is hurt. That part makes him rash and stupid, and maybe that's why he's shucking his coat as he falls to his knees beside his friend.

“Dean?” Benny's voice is soft, his grimace as much confusion as pain. 

“Truck's gone,” Dean says, short and gruff. He tosses his coat aside and braces one hand against the cold wall beside the vampire's head, shivering as he leans in close. “Can you stop?”

Snake-strike fast, Benny snaps a battered hand around Dean's wrist and tries to shove it off the wall. “You done what you could, brother,” he says, gentle, like Dean will break if he raises his voice. 

“No.” Dean yanks his wrist away and grabs the back of Benny's head instead. The hair at the base of his neck is short and soft, untouched by the blood that otherwise seems to be everywhere. He asks again, more deliberate. “Can you stop?”

He tilts his head to expose his throat, enticing. Crows with silent triumph in the secrecy of his mind when Benny's eyes lock on his pulse point. Who knew there would be a day when Dean would be _happy_ that a vampire is about to make him into a snack.

“Yeah,” Benny growls, sudden and low. 

“Good.” Dean tugs, and Benny doesn't resist. An arm wraps around Dean's back and he suddenly finds himself tucked against Benny's side, practically in his lap. He has to slam a hand down onto Benny's knee to keep himself from sliding to the ground. Briefly, he wonders what it says about him that the sickening squelch of blood beneath his fingers hardly registers. 

Dean's shirt is tugged aside, and the next thing Dean knows there's a soft, weirdly cool tongue swiping gently across his throat, just over his pulse.

“Hey, whoa!” Dean jerks back, eyes wide and scandalized. “The hell you doin'?”

Benny chuckles, weak and breathy but still strangely warm. “You're the one who insisted on this friendship thing, I'm just tryin' to abide by it. Don' wanna hurt ya, brother.”

“Okay,” Dean says slowly. He eyes Benny for a moment, wary, but his hand's still on the vampire's head and he's made no move to rise. “And, uh, licking's gonna accomplish that?”

“Trust me,” Benny says -- and damn it, Dean does. He trusts a goddamn vampire and doesn't know how to handle that. “Bite doesn't have to hurt. Vamps just like it that way, makes the blood spicy.”

Benny's hand comes up again and cups the side of Dean's head. “Relax,” he says, and Dean does it even though it's difficult, has to let each muscle go one at a time because he knows what's coming and it's got him anything but relaxed. He lets himself go limp, held up easily in just that one hand, and when Benny's tongue swipes across his skin he takes a breath and lets it out again, imagines he's forcing out all the tension in his body. 

The vampire is careful, kitten licks firm but soft, laving over the area so thoroughly that Dean finds himself truly relaxing. He can't help it – it's so weird, but it feels nice. He hasn't had this kind of attention since he got out of Purgatory, and apparently his body doesn't give a damn where it's coming from. 

Benny's free arm comes up and grips Dean's bicep. A cool breath huffs over Dean's sensitized skin, and he can't imagine how this is going to make the bite any less painful. It's like he can feel every skin cell, buzzing and alert and ready for more. 

“Gonna bite now,” Benny breathes. Dean almost gasps with how Benny sounds, shaky and elated and yet so, so soft. “Just try'n stay relaxed.”

Dean's breath punches out of him, shuddery and nervous. The prick of fangs settles against his throat and Dean tenses, can't help it, only they don't pierce his skin. They sit there, just the barest press, and his hyper-sensitive flesh picks up on every little movement as Benny breathes and  _waits._ Waits until Dean finds himself relaxing again, and the second he does Benny slides his fangs in, slow and easy.

There's got to be something in Benny's saliva. There's  _got to be,_ because nothing that's breaking skin and sinking deep into his flesh should feel like this. Every slow slide of each fang burns in the kind of addictive, flash-fire way that sears through his blood and lights up every nerve. His body jerks, not away but closer. He finds himself arching his neck, pressing against Benny's mouth, and the hand on Benny's knee has moved up to his thigh. 

“Shit, _shit._ ” Dean's fingers dig into the meat of Benny's thigh, hard with muscle, supporting him like the hand cupping his head so carefully. He shuffles forward on his knees, brings his other hand down from the wall and onto Benny's shoulder. He's nearly flush against the vampire's side now, forcing Benny's head at an odd angle but _god,_ Dean's not close enough...

It strikes him that he might be a little high when Benny gently pulls his fangs free, sucking in a sharp gasp and as Dean watches, several of his wounds close. 

“That it?” Dean pants. Part of him says _yes, please, let me run_ , but the rest just wants more. 

“Not yet,” Benny says. “You feelin' it? Vampire spit, makes things... easier.”

“Yeah.” Dean shudders, pressing his head into Benny's hand before he can stop himself. Doesn't want to stop himself, fuck. 

“Good,” Benny says simply, and then he has both hands on Dean's hips and is hauling the hunter onto his lap.

“Hey!” Dean yelps as he's positioned so he's straddling the vampire. 

“This's easier,” Benny says, but there's this gleam in his eye that says it's going to be a little something more than that. 

Dean opens his mouth to protest and those fangs sink back into him, a little faster this time, quick gut-punch of  _pain-burn-pleasure_ and he forgets what he had a problem with in the first place. Benny's arms wind around him, one at his waist and one around his shoulders, thick and strong and damn it all but Dean feels safe. Protected even, and there  _are fangs in his throat._

“Benny, fuck!” Dean plants both hands on Benny's shoulders, arches his head back as far as it'll go and chokes out a tight moan when Benny's fangs slide deeper. 

A low, purring growl rumbles up from Benny's chest and trembles down his fangs, sinking deep into Dean's skin. Large hands curl around Dean's hips and  _pull,_ and Dean doesn't even bother stifling his yell when he feels how hard Benny is, feels it grind up against his own stiffening cock. He needs to stop, he really should stop, this was just about saving his friend... but fuck, it feels good, so good and it's been too long...

Dean wraps his arms around Benny's neck and grinds down, hips churning in frantic circles that grow erratic when Benny growls and presses his fangs in deeper. There's two layers of denim between them and Dean couldn't care less, riding too high on whatever the fuck is in Benny's saliva and the searing burn of those fangs that he can feel pooling all the way into his cock. 

The hunter's hands curl into Benny's shirt, catching for a moment in his suspenders. Benny grunts against Dean's throat when one suspender snaps against his shoulder. Maybe it's the feeding high, maybe it's a kink he never needed to know about, but the next thing Dean knows he's got his hands wrapped around both suspenders and he's yanking them up, letting them snap back hard against Benny's chest. That gets him a full, throaty moan and it sets Dean's blood on fire. He runs his hands down Benny's chest beneath the straps, plucks and pulls and rubs at the hardening points of Benny's nipples through his shirt. It feels strange – he was a teenager the one and only time he experimented with a guy, and that wasn't exactly yesterday – but the way Benny reacts, fuck, pressing up into him and _growling_ into Dean's throat, hands gripping Dean's hips and pulling them down against his own with a strength that should be terrifying but is just seven levels of hot as Hell. 

“Yeah, yeah, come on,” Dean pants, doesn't even know what he's saying, just hopes his words keep the pleasure coming. Benny snarls into his throat and pulls his fangs out, quick and sharp and it burnsin a way that makes Dean _scream_ , throw his head back and rut down into Benny's lap, chasing the dry spark of friction that's not quite enough. 

Benny's head drops back against the wall. His bloodied lips are parted, fangs still bare, mouth wide as he sucks in gasps of air. It's disgusting, it _should be_ disgusting but all Dean can think is that Benny looks amazing, fever-bright and lust-crazed and he doesn't know how it happens, doesn't remember making the decision but the next thing Dean knows he's kissing him, licking the blood off the danger of sharp fangs. A growl of his own tumbles down Benny's throat and the vampire responds in kind. One hand leaves Dean's right hip and slides into his hair, fingertips digging in a gentle massage that is so completely at odds with the hard grind of their hips. 

They tear apart seconds later, but the second Dean tries to lean back the hand in his hair pulls him down, presses their foreheads together and it's too close, more intimate than the kiss that was almost too violent to be defined as such. Dean hisses, tries to twist away, but the strength of that hand is too much when he feels this good. 

“Shh,” Benny soothes. He rolls his forehead across Dean's, lips hovering so close that Dean can smell the blood on his breath. “Ride it out, Dean, come on.”

The hand on his hip slides right down onto his ass, squeezing a cheek through Dean's jeans and that is _it._ Dean chokes on a cry and grips Benny's shoulders, rubs himself frantic and sloppy into the hardness straining against his own. He doesn't even try to resist when Benny kisses him again, nips his lower lip with still-bared fangs and licks the blood from him. More of the vampire's saliva hits Dean's blood stream and fuck, it's like he's coming already, eternally – he's making guttural, frantic noises he's going to be ashamed of later but right now he just does not care. 

“Please,” he gasps, doesn't even try to stop himself.

“Yeah.” Benny grips Dean's ass harder even as his other hand slides through the short hairs at the back of Dean's neck, just as gentle as his other is harsh. “Yeah. That's it, brother, come for me.”

Dean hisses through clenched teeth. He wants to, feels like he's hovering on the edge and just needs something to shove him over. His left hand curls back into Benny's suspender, the other around the vampire's neck. His fingers dig with unforgiving force into Benny's flesh, hips working faster, he's so fucking _close..._

Dean arches his throat.

“I don't need any more,” Benny grunts, but the words are barely out of his mouth before he's swiping the flat of his tongue across the aching mark of his bite. “Dean...”

“Do it,” Dean growls. He slides his hand into Benny's hair and pulls. 

Fangs slam back into his throat, quick and fierce.

Dean is used to the swift rise and rush of orgasm, the kind of climax that slams into him hot and hard and dies almost as quickly. This, though... this is slow, layers and layers of it building one over the other, pooling out from his cock and just sliding along every nerve in his body, and _it doesn't_ _stop._ Dean's teeth slam down into Benny's shoulder through the thin material of his shirt, muffling the strangled scream that tears its way up from his lungs. Benny buries an animal snarl into Dean's throat, yanks Dean down against him and just grinds into him, doesn't let up even when Dean's voice diminishes into nothing more than helpless whimpers. 

Dean is oversensitive, his body jerking uncontrollably, by the time Benny carefully pulls out his fangs and loosens his grip on Dean's hips. He thinks about moving, but it just seems like too much effort. He lets his forehead rest on Benny's shoulder instead, lets his body go limp and pliant when he feels one strong arm wrap around his waist, securing him. 

“The fuck just happened,” Dean mutters after a moment, his voice a breathless huff caught somewhere between shocked and amused. 

Benny chuckles. He swipes his tongue over the bite a few times, and Dean can actually feel the skin stitching itself back together. “Probably shouda mentioned the saliva can get ya a little high. Affects should be wearin' off in a minute.” He pauses. Dean feels the arm around his waist loosen just a little. “You want to move?”

“No,” Dean says immediately. He tucks himself in a little closer, presses the faintest kiss to the bite mark he left in cloth and skin. “M'good.”

“All right.” Benny's grip tightens again. Dean feels him shift. A gust of soft, warm breath eases over his throat, but instead of the lick he's expecting Benny presses a kiss to his jaw, just shy of his cheek. 

“Really?” Dean mutters, but he's too loose, too relaxed to truly protest.

Benny laughs softly, leans his forehead against Dean's shoulder. “No one here to see you, brother,” he says. It could so easily be condescending, but it's not. It's genuinely reassuring. 

Dean falls asleep there, neck aching in a bizarrely pleasant way. 

When he wakes that night, he's lying on the back seat of the Impala, and Benny is waiting with a to-go container of pancakes and sausage. 

This, Dean thinks, he could get used to.

~

END


End file.
